


You Can’t Always Get What You Want

by mydeira, Sadbhyl



Series: Responsible Adults (aka, The Menageaverse) [46]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 04:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quiet evening that wasn’t meant to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can’t Always Get What You Want

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Mydeira, beta'd by Sadbhyl

The shipment of shattered Bavarian celebratory steins had kicked off a very long and trying day for Joyce. Only the quiet dinner she had planned with Rupert for that evening got her through the dragging hours.

Her hand had barely touched the handle when the door to Rupert’s apartment opened. But it wasn’t Rupert anticipating her arrival.

“Ethan,” she said with cool acknowledgment.

The unreadable mask slid quickly into place, only a trained eye could see that Ethan had been momentarily caught off his guard. “Good evening, Joyce.”

And she thought that would be it, that they’d go their separate ways.

“How have you been?” he asked quietly as she moved past him.

Joyce paused, bracing herself against the doorjamb. She could do this; small talk was easy. She could be civil to strangers, why not Ethan? “Busy.”

“You’ve sure put Rupert out of sorts today,” he commented.

She faced Ethan, immediately on the defensive. “I haven’t talked to him since the night before last, how could he be—”

“Easy,” he held up his hands. “I meant with regards to dinner. I’m not sure when the last time was that he cooked a decent meal. He’s been more insufferable than Martha Bloody Stewart this afternoon.”

“I told him nothing fancy,” she tried hard not to smile at the image of Rupert puttering around the kitchen, pots boiling over, meat marinating . . .

“I may be scarred for life. Few things in this world frighten me, but Rupert cooking is one of them.”

“He can’t be that bad.”

“Oh the food is good, I can assure you,” he grinned, “usually. You just don’t want to get in his way while he’s making it.”

“I almost feel sorry for you,” she laughed lightly.

“Don’t. You would think I’d know better after all these years, but,” he shrugged.

It all felt so, well, normal. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt at ease with Ethan. And there was no surer way to putting an end to such ease than thinking about it. That, and Ethan was Ethan.

“Why can’t we do this anymore, Joyce?” And she realized suddenly how tired he looked. Maybe it was the beard. God, when had he grown a beard?

“Do what?” she said evenly, trying to retain the good mood.

“This. Laugh at Rupert’s quirks. Talk.”

“You know why, Ethan.”

“How could I forget,” he said with a touch of bitterness. “You won’t let me. You won’t let yourself.”

“Rupert’s waiting,” she cut him off.

“Can’t have that, can we?” Ethan shook his head and, without another word to her, walked away.

She slammed the door harder than was necessary as she entered the apartment, making her way to the liquor cabinet. Grabbing a bottle at random, she poured herself two fingers worth of the amber liquid and was just raising the glass to her lips when Rupert’s voice called down to her.

“Make yourself at home, Joyce. I’ll be down shortly.”

Right at home. She tossed back the contents of the glass, the liquid burning a fiery trail down her throat, but doing little to warm the cold lump that had settled in her stomach. What in the hell had Ethan been doing here? No, it didn’t matter, his being there just fit with the tone of the day. The worst possible thing was naturally the only thing that could happen.

Only Rupert’s arms stealing around her waist and pulling her close alerted Joyce to his presence.

“Hitting the twelve-year straight off. I’m assuming ‘long day’ would be an understatement?” he said, nuzzling against her neck.

She willed herself to relax against his warmth and ignore the niggling tease of betrayal she felt.

“You have no idea,” she said quietly. Then keeping her tone even, “What was Ethan doing here?”

Rupert’s arms dropped from around her, allowing Joyce to turn and face him. Apparently not liking what he saw in her face, Rupert shook his head sadly and went into the kitchen, leaving her with nothing else to do but follow.

“Is this how it’s going to be then?” he asked finally as he poked around the oven.

“I just wanted to know what he was doing here. A simple question, Rupert,” she replied, her grip painfully tight around the tumbler.

Sighing, he shut the oven door and stood up. “I’m not going to choose between the two of you.”

“I wasn’t asking that.”

“All things considered, it’s inevitable. I thought I’d save you the trouble of beating around the bush.”

She set the glass down carefully. “This probably isn’t a good idea tonight. I’m sorry about dinner.”

That said, Joyce started for the door. Rupert caught her by the far edge of the couch, his fingers digging into her wrist.

“Let me go, Rupert,” her voice was low with warning.

His response was to pull her against him. “I thought I had gotten through to you, but you’re as untouchable as you were before I decided to stay.”

“You decided?” she said bitterly, his words hitting closer to home than she liked. “You were vacillating for months before you finally decided to leave. All I had to do was ask you to stay and you did. It doesn’t seem to me like you decided much of anything.”

“Not that you seem to really care much either way,” he retorted.

“No, I’m realistic. You’re going to leave eventually,” she said, trying to break his hold and only succeeding in bringing them closer together. Regardless of her emotional state, Joyce’s body still responded to the contact. She was not getting aroused at time like this! “Let me go, Rupert,” she repeated.

“I can’t let you go, Joyce.” There was more meaning in his reply than she cared to hear.

Needing something, anything else to talk about, “How can you still be with him after what he did to Buffy?”

“Ethan had his reasons.”

“What reason could possibly justify ripping her from—there is no reason to justify that!”

“Maybe there is and maybe there isn’t. Ethan did what he thought the situation called for. Beyond that, it isn’t my place to say.”

“Coward,” the word slipped out unchecked.

Rupert’s face immediately colored and his grip tightened further, but he gave no other outward signs that her comment had affected him. “You’re angry and feel betrayed. I understand that, Joyce. But I will not let you take out your feelings for Ethan on me,” his tone was deceptively even.

“Who said they concern only Ethan?”

She could feel him tense, holding himself back. “It’s a very dangerous game you’re playing, Joyce.”

“I’m not playing, Rupert,” she said flatly. Then looking down at the hand restraining her and back to his face, “You can’t even make up your mind now. Indecisive and afraid to—”

Pain exploded on the right side of her face, tendrils of fire radiating lightning quick from her cheek. Joyce was too stunned to process what had just happened. She blinked the tears out of her eyes to look at Rupert who had taken several steps backward.

“You fucking bastard,” she breathed, tentatively touching her burning cheek.

He didn’t say a word. And what she saw surprised her more than the blow ever could—he wasn’t sorry. Eyes cold and jaw set, Rupert Giles was no longer in charge. She should have been frightened, and a part of her was, but the anger that had been simmering for months was too strong to allow for any rational response.

“You hit me,” she said slowly, taking one step toward him, then another, until she was literally backing him into a corner.

“I did,” he admitted.

“That is the last time you will ever touch me,” she said, as she stood toe-to-toe with him.

An instant later, she was now trapped between Rupert and the wall. “No, Joyce,” he growled, “it isn’t.”

Before she could reply, his mouth was on hers, tongue thrusting past her lips and attacking with savage brutality. There was no tenderness in the kiss, or much feeling behind it at all for that matter. Just simple, primal possession. It made her want to roll over and concede to whatever Rupert—no, Ripper—demanded. But she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.

She brought her knee up to deliver a crippling blow, only to have it trapped firmly between Ripper’s legs mere inches from the intended target.

He pulled back from the kiss, biting none too gently at her lower lip. “Bad girl,” he purred, hands sliding down her arms to latch onto her wrists, restraining her in anticipation of her next move.

Joyce had little hope of being able to wriggle free of Ripper’s grasp. That left her with only one choice. She forced herself to stop struggling. The passivity seemed to get through to him as Joyce found that she was less tightly held. Taking advantage of the opportunity, she threw her full weight against Rupert, knocking him away from her, breaking free and running for the door.

Or she would have been running for the door had Rupert not caught her from behind a second after she broke free. One of his arms was wrapped across her stomach, immobilizing her.

“A valiant effort,” he rumbled in her ear as his free hand came into view, belt in tow, “but far too predictable.”

While she didn’t make it easy, he soon had her wrists bound tight in front of her in the smooth, brown leather. He whipped her around abruptly and hoisted her up over his shoulder and made his way to the stairs. Her struggles almost succeeded in sending them both careening back down the stairs, but Rupert managed to maintain his balance and his hold on her, eventually bringing them to the top and into his room. Without ceremony he tossed her onto the bed.

She scooted away from him. What in the hell had she gotten herself into?

His demeanor was cool and purposeful as he strode toward her. There would be no reasoning with this man.

He stopped at the foot of the bed, lifting off his sweater and tossing it aside. His pants remained on as he joined her, crawling up the bed until he had her trapped against the headboard.

Finding her voice, “You can’t do this.”

“I can’t?” he queried, one hand coming up to toy with her hair then wrapping itself firmly enough to give him leverage. He pulled her head back with a sharp tug. “No, I very much can do this, Joyce. And what’s more, you want me to.”

“I don’t know—Rupert!” she cried out as her head was yanked back further.

“No more lies, no more hiding,” his voice was steely and unrelenting.

Joyce’s heart was hammering in her chest. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t . . . God, she had never seen his eyes so dark! They reminded her of Ethan’s that night . . . oh no.

“Joyce,” her name came out as a feral growl.

When she didn’t reply, he released her with disgust but didn’t move away. Keeping his eyes on her the entire time, he reached over into the nightstand and removed a set of silk scarves. He set one aside in plain view, but the other he looped through her bound wrists and forced her to lie back until he could securely tie it around the headboard.

She had managed to keep herself in a tight ball the entire time. Until, that is, Rupert grabbed hold of her ankles and forcibly unfolded her down the length of the bed. He straddled her then, pinning her legs in place as he reached for the fastenings on her pants. They were soon off and laying across the room where he had tossed them. Next came her shirt, which he tore open in one try, snapping the buttons and tearing the fabric.

He chuckled as he took in the matching set of red satin underwear she wore. “You were expecting this, weren’t you?” he said with a cruel, mocking grin.

She struggled then, trying to throw him off, trying to ignore how accurate his words were. But he had her legs trapped in such a way as to make her nearly immobile. Not that she’d been expecting this. Or had she?

“There’s my girl,” he leaned forward toward one of her breasts. He suckled through the fabric until her nipple was an aching peak and then bit with sharp, unforgiving teeth.

“Son of a bitch!” She arched up into the pain, seeking more. And he obliged, biting again before moving to her other breast.

It hurt, but god she wanted more. Pain pushed everything else to the wayside, freed her mind from everything except sensation.

Rupert descended, sucking and biting a trail of red marks across her stomach. While he marked her, his fingers teased under the band of her panties, stroking across bare skin but never lower where she craved contact.

“Rupert, please,” she pleaded.

She felt his fingers scramble for purchase in the smooth fabric. The sound of rending material soon filled the room.

“I won’t have anything left!” she said inanely.

“So much better this way. Naked and vulnerable.” His voice sent chills dancing down her spine.

He rose, then, freeing her legs from his weight. An instant later, his hands were between her thighs, prying her legs open wide.

“Do you really want to fight this, Joyce?” he queried, as she attempted to counter the force he applied. She wanted to believe he was asking permission like so many times before, but now . . .

Yes. No. How in the hell was she supposed to think clearly with his mouth mere inches from her moist sex growing more exposed by the second, warm breath stirring the hairs.

Joyce screamed when his tongue ran flat and unrelenting over her clit. She tried to follow, not lose the contact, but her hips were held firmly to the bed.

He began in earnest, devouring her like a wild creature, solely intent on its needs alone. His hands slid from her hips to her thighs, prying her wider, fingers digging in with bruising intensity as he grew more frenzied.

She should be ashamed or angry that she was being used so, but there was little thought beyond the pleasure building inside, made more intense by the pain. Almost there, teetering on the edge—and Rupert sat up.

“You aren’t just going to stop, are you?” she asked incredulously.

He nodded, licking his lips. “This isn’t about what you want, Joyce.”

The bastard. “Fuck you!” she screeched.

“It’s about what I want,” he said as he stood and removed his pants, revealing nothing underneath. Then joining her again, “And very possibly, what you need.”

He took just enough time to settle himself between her still out-stretched legs, centering his cock, before thrusting inside.

“Shit!” Joyce felt like she was being torn open. She was ready but not used to him anymore.

There was no hesitation as he began to piston in and out. She had been so close when he’d stopped earlier, was still close, but the merciless fucking did nothing to alleviate her need, only made it worse.

And when he came a short time later, she was still left wanting. He pulled out and rolled off to the side, recovering next to her, not touching.

She was too stunned and too highly tuned to speak.

He untied her, not looking at her as he did so.

“You still have some things in the top drawer,” he said.

“Rupert?” she reached for him, but he turned away.

“It’s time you went home, Joyce.”

There was no room for argument. So, she did the only thing she could. She got off the bed, went to the dresser, put on a fresh change of clothes, and left. Not once did she look at him. She wasn’t sure what to think. And she was afraid of what she would see if she did look at him.

 

 

Joyce was lucky she made it home in once piece. Her thoughts were too scattered to pay much attention to other motorists. If driving weren’t almost second nature, she might not have been able to do that either.

She let herself into the house, leaning against the closing door with a sigh.

What in the hell had happened tonight? She had never seen Rupert so . . . she didn’t know that man tonight. And then there was the fact that he left her aching for release. Add that onto the anger at running into Ethan, the brief moment of normalcy, plus the irrational sense of betrayal . . . Hopefully the girls were both out. Dawn was most likely at Janice’s. And Buffy should be out slaying.

As if to prove that things could still get worse, her eldest chose that moment to come down the stairs.

“Mom?” Buffy hesitated at the top of the stairs. “Weren’t you going over to Giles’ tonight?”

“Change of plans,” Joyce replied shortly, pushing away from the door and heading up the stairs. As she drew level with her daughter, “I didn’t expect you to still be home.”

“I wasn’t, but I forgot something.”

Joyce brushed past her, heading for her room. A nice long shower might help.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and jumped.

“Did something happen tonight?” Buffy asked with concern.

“When did you suddenly start caring?” she was too tired to check her words.

“Mom, I—”

“No, I’d like to know,” Joyce cut the girl off, turning to face her. “Because for the last few months you haven’t given a damn about anyone but yourself. And you had to start tonight?”

Buffy looked hurt at her words, and Joyce almost felt sorry. Almost.

Then something other than hurt entered her daughter’s eyes. “God, Mom, your cheek! What happened?”

Her hand went and danced lightly over the sensitive skin of her right cheek. She hadn’t even thought to look. In raising her hand, her sleeve dropped and Joyce caught sight of the red and purple marks around her wrist. Quickly, she tried to cover it up. But Buffy had seen.

“Who did this to you, Mom?”

“No one. It’s nothing,” she protested.

“Was it Ethan?”

“Not this time,” she said, realizing only too late what she was revealing.

“What do you mean ‘not this time’? He’s done this to you before?” there was a quiet anger she hadn’t heard from Buffy before.

Joyce took a deep breath. “It isn’t something you would understand, Buffy.”

“What’s not to understand about one of your boyfriends beating you up? That’s pretty clear.”

“There are things you don’t know about. And you don’t have the right to ask,” Joyce said with finality.

Buffy threw up her hands. “Mom, I’m trying to help you. If it wasn’t Ethan, then who? Who did this to you?”

“It’s none of your business, Buffy. Drop it. Go out and slay or do whatever it is you do all night,” Joyce turned and continued into her room.

But Buffy wouldn’t take the hint. Joyce felt the girl following behind her. The one night she would have loved Buffy to be self-involved . . .

“It was Giles, wasn’t it?” came the quiet question.

“Buffy,” Joyce gritted her teeth.

“Giles did this to you! H-how could he?” Her daughter sounded very young at the moment.

“For the last time, Buffy. It is none of your business,” she said slowly. “What happens between consenting adults stays between them.”

The room was deathly quiet.

“Y-you wanted this?” Buffy asked, an edge of disgust creeping in.

“I did,” Joyce realized. Then with a cold smile she faced her daughter. “I bet you never thought your mother liked it rough, did you? What else do you want to know, since you’re so eager to hear? Would you like details? Like how he used his belt to restrain me or the look in his eyes before he tied me to the bed and—”

“Mom!” Buffy backed away, eyes wide in horror.

“Just go, Buffy. Please.”

And she did, leaving Joyce alone in her room wondering how in the hell things had gotten so fucked up.  



End file.
